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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311380">the Secrets of Sisterhood</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newestnewgirl/pseuds/Newestnewgirl'>Newestnewgirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Naturals - Jennifer Lynn Barnes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, F/M, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:02:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,320</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311380</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newestnewgirl/pseuds/Newestnewgirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You're rescued from a bus stop by Agent Veronica Sterling only to be wrapped up into a new world of secrets and scares.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Inevitable Interrogations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've never written for these characters before please don't @ me :/. There'll be five chapters and I actually have a plan so hopefully I'll write more than one.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the third time this hour, you were on the receiving end of a voicemail statement. In normal circumstances, this would be, well, normal. But it wasn’t. And it was only 6:04 pm. </p>
<p>“This is Judy Carthen, please leave a message. If your name is y/n, please stop calling” Your mom said. But you wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. You were protected from the rain only by the overhead of the bus stop but nothing protected you from your thoughts. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to pick up, to hold you close and tell you everything was alright. She was the one who was supposed to love you when everything went to shit, not the one directing the shit storm your way. You pushed the green call button on your phone again, but the screen went black. You had thirty percent left, but the cold played by its own rules. </p>
<p>You pocketed the sad device and looked up. Standing straight up but somehow giving the impression of towering over you was a woman. She looked familiar. And not because she passed by this bus stop and subtly snuck glances at you twice a day everyday since you showed up here (which was a week longer than anyone should ever have to sleep at a bus stop). She handed you an umbrella as an invitation to something more. More what, you didn’t know, but a quiet voice deep down (that you worked very hard to keep under wraps) was telling you it was more. It was a chance. That voice also told you to trust her. To get into her car with your backpack and duffle. So you did. </p>
<p>She brought you through the wooden back door of a ridiculously large house in a suburban area. You were standing in a fairly large kitchen. There was a back stairwell and a hallway that led to two bedrooms and an open floor plan (excluding the kitchen). </p>
<p>“Upstairs or downstairs? There's two guest bedrooms” The woman said. When you didn’t respond, she amended her initial statement. “They both have locks” </p>
<p>You nodded. She seemed legit. Something about this whole situation was supposed to be throwing red flags at you left and right. There was supposed to be handcuffs chained to the fridge, or framed photos of happy serial killers on the wall. But nothing about being in a really nice house with a woman who probably kept tabs on you was off putting.</p>
<p>“Can I ask you something,” You asked her, staring right at your eyes. Your mom had called it Boss Lady Eye Contact before she stopped talking to you. The woman nodded. She was dressed like a cop and suddenly it dawned on you that this could be a test. But a test for what?<br/>“Why did you bring me to this house?” </p>
<p>“This is my home,” She said. Plain and simple. Like there was nothing wrong with bringing a teenage girl you had said to maybe a total of four max sentences into your home. </p>
<p>“Why bring me to your home?” You asked. She didn’t answer. She was fighting it. She wanted to tell you everything she knew and to explain why she had made the choices she had. But the same exact part of her didn’t want you to know, the same part wanted to protect you. Nothing about this could’ve been weirder. “Fine. What's the WiFi password?”</p>
<p>That, she told you and you made a note of it in your phone. Then, you sauntered off to the first floor guest room and locked the door behind you. You were torn between unpacking and leaving your clothes in the zipped duffle. You wouldn’t stay here long. You didn’t know why a single woman would need a house with what you assumed was nine bedrooms. Unless there were more people who lived here too. </p>
<p>“Family dinner in thirty minutes,” A man's voice said over a central intercom. Guess there were more people living here than you thought. “Don’t even think about being late, Micheal Townsend'' </p>
<p>Well, at least that gave you a starting place. You put Micheal Townsend's name into your search bar and the first page of results were articles about who you could only assume was his father, successful businessman Thatcher Townsend. At least successful until he went to jail for a couple months for aggravated assault and child abuse. You clicked on the article. It mentioned the police report that had an agent's name on it, as Agent Veronica Sterling and not Detective or just beat cop or something. Agent. As in FBI or CIA. Of the two, you hoped and wished it was the FBI. You could deal with that, unlike the CIA. </p>
<p>The police report you had found after a few clicks had a link to a bodycam video of a teenage boy being punched in the jaw by his father. There were three other teenagers in the video, and one you assumed who was taping the video. You also assumed that they too lived in this house. </p>
<p>Special Agent Sterling was who you thought she was. The woman dressed exactly like the epitome of an authority figure, and she had brought you to this house. </p>
<p>There was a knock on your door. Looks like the thirty minutes was up. And you were being summoned for family dinner with a family you didn’t even belong to. “Its me, Veronica.” The woman said. “We’d like you to join us for dinner, Judd made lasagna, but if you want to eat it in your room thats okay too” </p>
<p>By the way she had said that, you guessed it wasn’t that okay to skip out on this. You had no idea what to expect, but you put your phone in your pocket and unlocked the door. She was already walking down the hall. </p>
<p>By the time you got to the table (which wasn’t very long, for such a big house the hallway was quite short) all the other members were there. And there was one chair left. It was between Veronica and the boy who got punched in the video. You pulled it out with all nine pairs of eyes on you and sat down. You scanned the table. Micheal had brown blonde hair that glowed with hints of red in the right light. Veronica sat across from him with her blazer and button up and purely professional facial expression, even though she had said this was her home. To her left was a man in a suit and reflective sunglasses even though he was inside. This was definitely the FBI, because the CIA didn’t try this hard. On your left was a girl with long red hair and on her left a girl with long, silver blonde hair and uneven bangs. She either cut them herself when she was stressed or someone else here had cut them in her sleep. Neither answer would have surprised you. There was a boy with blond hair across from the girl with blonde hair and on his left was a girl with a grin as creepy as the cheshire cat and as homey as Santa Clause. </p>
<p>“Lasagna?” The man who sat at the head of the table asked you, and before you could answer he cut you a slice as large as your face and scooped it onto your plate. You just looked around again. You had no idea what was in this food. </p>
<p>The mad saw you looking, and since no one else was eating, he saw your completely reasonable concern. He dug his fork directly into the dish he had scooped your food from and put it right in his mouth. </p>
<p>“Judd!” the girl with a smile said like she was scorning him. </p>
<p>“Lia” Judd said in the same tone, but one that also told her that he was the one in charge, and he could eat right out of the dish if he so pleased. You took one look at Judd, who gave you a slight nod, and then dug into your food. You didn’t care about first impressions or table manners or any of the shit you were supposed to care about right now. You hadn’t had hot food in a week and you weren’t going to wait around until it got cold. </p>
<p>“So Y/n” Lia asked you from her end of the table. “Why aren’t you at your home right now?” </p>
<p>If Veronica’s acceptance of questioning hadn’t been a test before, this certainly was. </p>
<p>“I don’t really have a home right now” You said, choosing your words carefully. “I’m surprised that Veronica didn’t mention she took me into her car from the bus stop I’ve been sleeping in for the past week” </p>
<p>You weren’t afraid of telling these people that you had slept outside for more than you should have. The way these people carried themselves told you that they had all been through their fair share of bus stop bench naps in their lifetimes. What you were really afraid of was how they would react. </p>
<p>“Sixteen percent of people in the United States are homeless on any given night” The blonde girl said. </p>
<p>“Sloane” The man next to Veronica said in a warning. But Sloane wasn’t the type of person you’d pegged for someone who would have understood this as a warning, though. </p>
<p>“Sorry sorry, I’m late, I know but I got so caught up in the sunset and the way the lake looks in the rain” A girl explained as she hurried into the room, sopping wet with hands covered in paint. </p>
<p>“Have you remembered that we buy you paintbrushes now, Celine?” Judd asked her, exasperated. But, he still stood up and walked over to wipe paint off her chin. She sat down next to Sloane and put her hand on top of hers on the table. Sloanes eyes lit up. </p>
<p>Lesbians. </p>
<p>“Have you remembered to tell me when we take in strays?” She asked Judd back like you weren’t even there. Then, she leaned over her plate and waved to you. “Hi, I’m Celine. Have we passed the interrogation part of this dinner yet? That's what I was trying to avoid.” </p>
<p>“No,” Sloan said factually. “From other dinners we still have approximately fourteen minutes of awkward and stiff small talk before Briggs will excuse himself for his study, and then two minutes late Sterling will go to join him. Then, the rest of us will slowly stagger off to do things. But since it's Tuesday, we wait to play strip poker.” </p>
<p>“Sloane!” Almost all the teenagers at the table said sharply to her. You guessed she had just blown their cover. However, Judd, who you took to be the guardian to the teens and a father figure to the adults, just held his head in his hands feigning disappointment, but even you could tell he was hiding laughter. And you don’t even know him. </p>
<p>“Does this get me past the interrogation part then?” You asked. Everyone at the table either shook their head or looked down at their plates. The redhead asked the next question. </p>
<p>“Why were you at the bus stop?” She asked. </p>
<p>“Long answer or short answer?” You asked her back. </p>
<p>“Long answer, who do you think I am?” She shot back playfully, like she was one hundred percent certain that that was how you were going to respond before you actually answered. </p>
<p>“I saved up at Washington University in St Louis to buy a bus ticket back to this town. I wanted to come home and see my parents for the holidays while uni was on break. But they didn’t want to see me. So I went back to the bus stop and my phone died.” You answered. Simple as that. </p>
<p>“Why don’t you feel angrier? Or surprised?” Micheal asked next to you. You thought that you had gotten good at hiding your emotions, but he saw through that facade. He saw through the fake you and you felt raw for a flash, and then you built your walls back up, higher and stronger. But you left a door. It was locked, but it could be opened. If he wanted in badly enough. </p>
<p>You opened your mouth to answer that but the red haired girl answered before you could. “You were expecting it. You knew that you wouldn’t be allowed back home when you left for college in the fall. You prepared yourself but you couldn’t help but hope that they would let you back in. They were your family since before you can even remember and all it took was one decision to lose it all. Sleeping on the bench in the cold was your penance for hoping. For hoping to be loved, to be norm-” </p>
<p>She stopped talking when Dean leaned across the table and put a hand on her arm. His eyes told her to stop. “Cassie”</p>
<p>“Why ask me questions if you already know the answers?” You asked, confirming for the rest of the people that what she had said had been true. But they already knew. They knew that whatever Cassie had said about you was true before they even heard it, and nothing she had said was something you would find in the background check you were almost certain they ran on you. </p>
<p>“They want to know if you’ll tell them what they already know or if you’re going to lie,” Sloane said matter of factly. Celine didn’t have to lean much to reach her ear. She whispered something she thought only Sloane could hear, and Sloanes cheeks went bright red. Then, they stood together and left the room in excited giggles, holding hands. From the looks of what you could see on Cassies face, she had heard them too. </p>
<p>“That's not information you can get from a typical background check.” You said and stood up from the table. You turned around and started to walk away. “I need to go” You said before running out of the front door. </p>
<p>Before the door closed behind you, you could hear Veronica’s own chair screech back in a sudden movement before it toppled over completely and smacked the ground. You heard yet another person stand up and then a muffled voice. </p>
<p>“I’ll go, Sterling. Don’t worry.” It was Micheal. </p>
<p>You thought he was nice, and you took this coming after you as an act of love for those closest to him, who was obviously Sterling and everyone but you at that table. But you also interpreted it as a first attempt at unlocking that door. Something in him wanted to go see you himself instead of let Briggs do it when he was obviously his superior and mentor. Since he was nice, you sat on the steps and waited for him. </p>
<p>“You’re still here” He said, surprised (he didn’t show it on his face but it was there in his voice). He pocketed his car keys and sat on the painted wooden step next to you. “Why not run off?” </p>
<p>“You won’t hurt me.” You said calmly, “If you were experienced killers you would have tied me up before I could run off because you haven’t manipulated me enough for me to stay of my own accord. Yet. And if you were inexperienced killers you would all be fumbling right now to reshape your plan. And you'd be trying to talk me out of the idea you’re killers. You want me ripe and fat and a bit of personal connection to make that first kill all the more special, like all the ones you’ve read.” </p>
<p>As soon as you stopped talking it dawned on you that Micheal and these people were part of the FBI, so they actually caught killers. They knew them first hand. When he just stared at his thumbs, you apologized. </p>
<p>“Don’t say that, Y/n” He said. He took in a long breath that seemed more for show or pacing of his words than it was for airflow. “When Cassie first came here, I told her to leave. I didn’t want her to be any part of who we were and what we did here. But then I realized that she wouldn’t leave for the life of her. She was here for a reason, and she knew it. But with you, I’ll have to get you to stay. I could offer you the four thousand dollars and plane ticket to Peru in the duffle in the back of my car, but you would actually take it.” You opened your mouth to say that if he gave it to you, you wouldn’t go. You both knew that wasn’t true. “So I’m not offering. You are obviously really important to Sterling, so by extension you matter to me. And sleeping in this house for a few nights is better than the bus stop.” </p>
<p>“You don’t know why I matter to Sterling?” You asked him, confused. From what you could tell of Sterling, you would have thought she’d brief the members of her family and this house about why you were here.</p>
<p>“No,” Micheal responded, equally confused. Something about this Micheal felt different, softer. At the table he had been quiet and rigid for the most part. “You have no idea? Have you seen her before?”</p>
<p>“Beside when she was walking by the bus stop twice a day, no” You send and realized, “Why would she watch me twice a day before taking me in? Why make me wait in the cold? To prepare me. She wanted me to see her seeing me so I was ready when she came to get me. Like I used the fall semester to get ready for sleeping in the cold.” </p>
<p>You let that hang in the silence. You were mulling over how this Veronica Sterling knew you as well as you knew yourself. “How did Cassie know what I was going to say before I said it? I never told anyone that.” </p>
<p>“You know we work for the FBI, right?” Micheal asked you, a goofy lopsided smile budding into a grin on his face. He knew you knew. And that you liked his smile. “Cassie does profiling. Sterlings her mentor, who also does profiling.”</p>
<p>“And what do you do?” You asked him. You wanted to be serious. You needed to know these people. You weren’t going to leave. It was too late, you were already attached to Micheal and his smile and his loyalty. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m the emotion reader,” He answered. “You’re intrigued” </p>
<p>“Who wouldn’t be?” You asked back. Suddenly, Celina opened the door, a few strays out of place and her shirt untucked (it was tucked before). </p>
<p>“Micheal, are you ready for strip poker?” She only asked him, but at least she looked at you. She was inspecting you. She stared so intensely it was like something had taken over her as she memorized your face. These people were weird. </p>
<p>Micheal stood up from the step where you were just sitting together, putting his hand on your knee to help himself up (actively choosing to avoid the railing on his left). He let his hand linger before he went inside. </p>
<p>“So, new kid, you’re a recruit, right?” She asked you. She was good at hiding her intentions, but not as good as the others. When your parents trained you to be normal at age eight, they had taught you to see base emotions you had trouble picking up on. She wasn’t really asking you if you were a recruit, but you didn’t know what the secret subtext here was. </p>
<p>“No, not yet” You replied. “I don’t even know what you do here” </p>
<p>“We’re FBI” She said just like Micheal had, just like that was a perfectly good answer that required no follow up questions or a second thought. </p>
<p>Celine went to play strip poker in Micheals room, and didn’t ask you to join. That was okay. You didn’t even know these peoples last names yet, so you definitely weren’t ready to show them your boobs. You went instead to the swinging door to the kitchen. It was closed. The grownups were talking. And talking about you. </p>
<p>“Who is she really, Judd?” You heard Briggs say. Well, at least you assumed because the voice didn’t sound like a stereotypical cisgendered woman and you didn’t think Judd would talk to himself. At least, out loud, that is. </p>
<p>“I’m not discussing this,” Judd said. Unlike when he had reprimanded Lia for her words, he didn’t sound like this was the end of the conversation. Briggs knew it too. </p>
<p>“It's not for her protection, is it? Because we can protect her” Briggs said. </p>
<p>“You don’t even know her, you wouldn’t give your life” Sterling said. “The only one here that would do that is Cassie” </p>
<p>“Lie,” Briggs said. If you had been in the room he probably would have been staring her down. Or holding her hand. You honestly didn’t know which. The emotions and actions of people wasn’t really your thing. Their internal systems on the other hand? Fascinating. Captivating. Challenging to heal, but yet you couldn’t help yourself but to try. “You would give your life for her” </p>
<p>“I never said I wouldn't,” Sterling said in a different manner. Like she had broken the rules and she had to pay for that. Like she needed to be more of a robot and less of a person with emotions. You heard footsteps coming your way and debated whether to open the door and ask if you could shower, or to run away as fast as possible so it didn’t seem like you were spying. </p>
<p>“So you’re not strangers- Judd where do you think you’re going?” Phew. You weren’t good at fast decisions. </p>
<p>“You two obviously don’t need me to fight over this, I’m leaving.” He said simply. </p>
<p>“You know something. You won’t tell me” Briggs said. “I’m the Director, I can look up the case before you do, and she’s not a Natural so you aren’t her legal guardian.” This was what he thought a warning was. </p>
<p>“Sterling,” He said, telling her she had to tell him. </p>
<p>“Y/n was kidnapped from FBI protective custody twelve years ago. I found out four years ago.  I’ve been keeping tabs on her ever since.” Sterling replied, only answering around half the questions she had been asked. “Ex-director Sterling had a third daughter.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Case Files and Kissing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You start to get settled in to the house while searching for more information about who you actually are. Also, Michael provides good distractions. They're almost better as Lia's canon abilities.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Did you want to join us for strip poker?” Sloane innocently asked you, and pulled you out of your thoughts. This was spiralling fast. There's no way that you could leave now. Or did you want to keep eavesdropping?” </p><p>“I think I’m going to take a shower,” You responded, failing to keep your voice as steady as you wanted it to be. “Can you not tell anyone about this?” </p><p>“The eavesdropping or the shower?” Sloane asked you. </p><p>“The eavesdropping,” You clarified for her. She was sweet. Pretty much pure cinnamon roll. She mimed locking her lips and pushing the key up her butt. The gesture was sweet, but one of the boys had probably taught her that the wrong way. You smiled. “Thanks” </p><p> </p><p>After your shower, you lay in bed. You hadn’t slept well in ages. Not since the summer. But no matter how comfortable the bed was (and this one was very -- the blankets felt like warm clouds), nothing could calm your mind. You needed answers. </p><p>To start, you figured out that Veronica was your sister because she mentioned ex-director Sterling, who shared her last name. It was either you were both his daughters or Veronica was your mother, and you would much rather be sister. She seemed young enough to have been a teen mom, but ex-director Sterling was much older than her (and you really didn’t want to think down that path).  </p><p>You also figured out that your parents didn’t actually exist. That the last name you had wasn’t your birth last name. They had changed it in FBI protective custody and then again when your parents took you away. When you typed your parents into Google, it told you there was an error. Not even a FaceBook page showed up. You were almost certain your parents had FaceBook, because they were always complaining about what their friends were doing. It was always “Linda this and Linda that” as long as you could remember. </p><p>Before you knew it, you were stepping out of bed and putting a sweatshirt over your pajamas. The floorboards of the hallways creaked as you slowly walked across them. You kept walking, running your hands over the grey walls and photo frames of the team out on adventures, until you reached a wooden door. Underneath it you could only make out the beginning of a dark colored carpet in the darkness. </p><p>You opened the door and took the stairs down. On the third step, you slipped, and realized that the edges were covered in white duct tape, probably to make sure that someone saw the step, without thinking about how slippery it was with socks on. You grabbed the wooden railing so you wouldn’t fall, but that you grabbed didn’t feel like wood. It felt like a sock on a foot. Since the door was closed, you felt confident you could turn the light on without waking up anyone in the main part of the house. </p><p>“Agent Sterling, I swear I wasn’t-” Said a boy's voice. You took a few steps closer to see his face. It was Micheal. You stood directly in front of him so that he could see you, even though it took him a couple seconds to clock it. </p><p>“Oh Y/n,” He said, getting out of his handstand and standing up to face you. His demeanor changed completely than the way it was before. He let it show on his face, too. You didn’t need to have his natural ability to know that it was pity. “It's just you.” </p><p>“What do you mean, it's just me? I could punch you in the face right now if I really wanted to,” You told him harshly. You really hadn’t meant it (and he knew that thanks to the face of instant regret coming seconds later), you just needed to do something. There was so much anger pent up inside of you just begging to come out you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold it in. </p><p>“I’m sorry” You told him. </p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“I mean it.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Do you know who I am?” You asked him. This wasn’t a test, or some sort of snarky remark. You sincerely wanted to know who you were, because you didn’t know anymore. He nodded and then turned and walked to a desk with locked cabinets at the bottom. From the pencil shelf, he retrieved a medium thick manila file of papers. On the front were two words, written in upper case Sharpie: Y/n Sterling. </p><p>You went to join him at the desk and laid out the papers as you flipped through them. You turned the pages with one hand, slowly taking information in, and placed your other hand on top of Micheals, which was resting flat on the desks surface. You pretended not to sneak glances at him and he pretended he wasn’t staring at you. You reached the last page and turned it over like all the others, leaving just the end of the manilla folder to look at. </p><p>“So do you want a distraction now or later?” He asked you, and you let yourself look at him. </p><p>“Depends on what it is,” You asked him, almost certain it had to do with your lips against his. </p><p>“Kissing” He said, trying to sound nonchalant to hide he felt like he was going out on a limb. </p><p>“You want to kiss a girl who didn’t even know her real last name, real parents, or that she has two sister, who was kidnapped and raised as someone else from the age of five?” You asked him, turning the deadbolt on the door to the real you. These were your defenses. They were here to keep you safe. From weird parents and kidnappers. </p><p>“You’re just as fucked up as the rest of us,”</p><p>“Then I don’t want you to be just a distraction,” You answered him, taking a step closer. You were pretty short, so you had to look up to see him. His face was lowered close to yours, lips inches apart. You could feel his breath on yours. He didn’t take what you said as an invitation, even though you desperately wanted him to take your mind off your identity crisis. </p><p>“I never said you couldn’t choose both now and later” He said. He still didn’t get any closer to kissing you. </p><p>“I’m pretty sure that ‘or’ implies only one of the options” You said. This was fun, getting out of your head, flirting a little. </p><p>“If you want me to kiss you, you’re going to have to tell me,” He said. He made no move to do it until you gave him the go ahead, and from what you could see of the expression on his face, he was a man of his word. </p><p>“Micheal, I want you to kiss me” You told him. So he did. And it was good. Sweet and warm and gentle and strong. His hand was still in yours when you parted, and you wrapped his arms around your waist. This time, you cupped his face and brought his lips to your own. </p><p> </p><p>In the morning, Micheals distraction proved to be enough to float you into a gentle, restless sleep for the rest of the night. At least it was better than nothing. </p><p>When you stepped into the kitchen, it was bustling with noise. Micheal was talking to Briggs in the breakfast nook, Cassie, Dean, and Lia were eating eggs Judd was making at the island. Celine and Sloane entered from the other side and made their way to the fridge. </p><p>Veronica entered the room. “Morning, kids. How was strip poker?”</p><p>Sloane looked to Celine with a furrowed brow and Celine gave her the slightest shake of her head. Sloane nodded and kept her lips shut. </p><p>“Ok well then who told Y/n about the case because she looks like she’s contemplating pouring tequila into her cup of coffee?” She asked instead. </p><p>Sloane looked at Celine again, but this time Celine spoke. “Sloane you don’t need permission from anyone to speak. Talk if you want to. Answer if you want to. When you looked at me I thought you wanted to know if Sterling had asked a rhetorical question and I meant to tell you she wasn’t expecting a response.” </p><p>“Micheal told Y/n at around two in the morning last night. They went through the case together and then kissed.” Sloane said really fast, like if she said it all in one breath, no one would think about whether what she said was awkward or not. Celine smiled at her, but everyone else in the room looked at least slightly embarrassed and a little ruffled. Well, everyone but Lia. She didn’t change at all. </p><p>You took this as your cue to leave and turned on your heels, hoping to escape a second round of interrogations. </p><p>“Nuh-uh-huh” Judd said, and you looked at him, expecting him to also be wagging his finger and shaking his head. But he wasn’t. “We’re not done with you yet. Come and take a seat” He pulled a seat out next to Cassie at the island. </p><p>“Do you have any questions?” Veronica asked you, her voice steely to protect her from caring too much. </p><p>“Why didn’t anyone notice sooner that I was kidnapped?” You asked. </p><p>“The agents kept sending in their regular reports. When we visited every year, you were there.” This was only confusing you more. “But then they were found dead two weeks ago.” </p><p>So that was why she kept walking by you. Because it was always a part of the plan to save you. But why not sooner?</p><p>As if she had read your thoughts, Veronica responded, “We got emails from an account that was linked to your personal computer and phone, so we thought you were fine, that you had just left and didn’t want to come back” </p><p>“You said you had known for four years before I got here,” You asked her, accusing her of letting you stay in those crazy peoples custody for twelve years too long. </p><p>“The agents assigned as your guardians missed a report four years ago, and we thought it was a kidnapping but when we looked into it it appeared as just a blip. Some paperwork got stuck together and the file went to the wrong case.” She said. Everyone but Micheal and Veronica had faded into the background. They were still there, but they didn’t matter. Nothing matters. Well, obviously you mattered enough to be kidnapped from protective custody, but you didn’t know why.</p><p>“My- our father was in a serial murder cult that did thinks on Fibonocci dates” She explained before you could verbalize your question yet again. “When we raided the cult, we found you in a different room, all alone. Around five years old. There was a second girl, one named Laurel around two years younger than you. She was their chosen one. We put you in protective custody in case there was someone else who we didn’t catch that wanted to revive it” </p><p>This was too much. Too much and too soon. You didn’t have enough sleep for this. You weren’t sure if there would ever be enough sleep to hear something like this. You grabbed a half empty bottle of something alcoholic from the counter and fled. </p><p>In your room, it was quiet. In your room, there were no sisters or kidnappings, or worries. But you didn’t have your backpack, and you had homework to do. You took a shots worth of alcohol in a sip and prepared to walk from wherever they kept your backpack and back to your room. But in the living room, the team was planning to head out. </p><p>“Where are you going?” You asked them before you could catch yourself. They all turned to look at you. </p><p>“Your captors were reported missing by their neighbors. We’ve got a warrant to search the house.” Veronica said before glancing at Briggs and then Judd before continuing. “Would you like to join us?” </p><p>“Sure” The answer came out of your mouth before you knew if you wanted to go. </p><p>“Will you be okay? Mentally?” Micheal asked you. If he was anyone else, you thought, he would have addressed this to an adult even though you were standing right there. </p><p>“I’ve had enough of that alcohol stuff to forget that my whole life is a lie and to answer literally anything you ask me honestly, but I’m sober enough to walk in a straight line and save your lives if need be” You said, slinging your words around without slurring them.</p><p>“And what makes you think you could do that?” Lia asked, playing devil's advocate. </p><p>“Because, Lia, I am a medical genius” You said with all the gravitas in the world. Judd, Briggs, and Sterling let you step out into the sunshine with the team and walk towards the car. “I call shotgun!” You exclaimed before excitedly jogging over to one of the two SUV’s in the driveway. </p><p>“Well at least you’re not driving,” Lia said. Micheal shot her a look. She understood that you were on an emotional roller coaster. Micheal just had to remind her. </p><p>In the car, she started asking you questions. “So how is Micheal at kissing?” </p><p>You looked over at Micheal, who was driving. “Honestly not as bad as I thought he would be. His lips were warm but not too warm”</p><p>Micheal feigned a gasp of embarrassment and shocked insult that you had responded the way you had. Lia leaned up from the backseat to flick him in the back of the head before asking another question. </p><p>“Can anything really be too warm?” She asked. </p><p>“Yes. Toilet seats, hands when holding them, and silverware” You responded like these were common facts to find these three objects capable of being too warm. </p><p>“On a related note, can anyone be too hot?” </p><p>“Temperature wise, the human brain starts to lose function above 105 degrees fahrenheit. Attractive-ness wise, no, only Rihanna is too hot for her own good. And somehow, Brittany Spears” </p><p>Lia looked amused. Veronica, on the other hand, looked like she was disappointed in Lia and embarrassed for you. Micheal just so happened to point that out. The car rolled to a stop and Veronica stepped out. </p><p>“Here we are, 5568 Museum Road” She announced before starting the long walk up the brick path to the front door.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't think I'm writing Veronica Sterling quite right but It'll get better hopefully :) Also, I never knew that Michael was spelled ae instead of ea until Ao3 corrected it just now. Sorry bout that!</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Memories and Medicine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The team takes you to your old house to investigate the crime scene. The only way back home is a very dangerous road.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You sobered up fast. Very very fast. Seeing this house felt like coming home, it was relatively small but it had a path to the backyard on one side and was connected to another house on the other. There were many, many steps to get to the front porch. But you saw this house through a new lens too. This was where your kidnapper parents had kept you. You weren’t hidden but you didn’t feel you could leave. You weren’t supposed to be different. You were always told you were too smart for other kids and that was bad. That's why you could never have anyone over. But they didn’t want you to leave to go to college at seventeen. You had gotten into WashU’s seven year MD and bachelors program on a full ride scholarship. And they still didn’t see how being super smart was a good thing. How was free college at a good school NOT a good thing? </p><p>Walking up the steps flooded you with old memories. Micheal was right behind you and he didn’t even complain when you stopped every other step, lost in thoughts. He just stood behind you, prepared to catch you if you could no longer hold yourself up. You reached for the doorknob when you got to the door. Sterling handed you a pair of gloves to put on, and you did. </p><p>The most prevalent memory was from two years ago. You had taken AP bio then, and your teacher had presented some scribe internship and shadowing opportunities in hospitals. He had also pulled you aside at the end to give you a third pamphlet, a gifted program lecture series for high schoolers with teacher recs and college students. He said that he’d be disappointed if you didn’t reach your full capabilities. </p><p>Three weeks later when the deadline for applications came up, he pulled you aside again to ask why you hadn’t asked him for a rec (he had already written it in expectation) and you had to tell him that you weren’t applying. That night he showed up at your house with a dish of cornbread and a bottle of wine (not to mention all three pamphlets). Your parents had agreed only because he was pressing them, and they needed to maintain their image of being good (although fairly strict) parents. You could see it all clearly now. </p><p>When you walked him to his car outside (the only way to say whatever you actually wanted to say) and hugged him. You were pushed back into reality when Sterling spoke to you. Her voice was gentle and patient, but strained. This was just as hard for her as it was for you. </p><p>In the house, the old wooden floor of the living room transitioned into a tiled kitchen. There was shattered glass from the cabinets but the nice dinner China was left untouched. Micheal followed you when you went upstairs to your room. It was small and crowded. Only a bed and a bookshelf. Your clothes were stored in bins you slid under your bed. The bookshelf was covered with science textbooks and romance novels, with more books stacked in neatly organized piles lined up against the wall. </p><p>You opened the covers of your made bed and slid into it, turning away from Micheal and wrapping your arms around curled legs in a fetal position. Hot tears dropped on the pillow after they escaped from your eyes. This was embarrassing. </p><p>Micheal sat down on the edge of your bed and it squeaked. He didn’t speak, but he looked around the room, at the walls. When you were twelve or thirteen you had started to tape up pictures of celebrities and drawings you had drawn onto the walls. Then you got in trouble for putting tape on the walls. You tore them down in the middle of the night and crumpled them each into their own little balls but you didn’t throw them away yet. Weeks later you flattened them out and put them under your ugliest sweater in your clothing bins, to pull out when you needed it. The walls were bare now. </p><p>“No decorations?” Micheal asked you. </p><p>You took a sharp breath in. “No decorations”</p><p>“You’re not supposed to be disturbing the crime scene,” Sloane said from the hallway. She had on gloves and was scribbling down notes in her notebook. You sat up and made the bed again. You wiped away your tears with your hands before you wiped your hand on your pants. You reached up to your face to try to do it again but Micheal stopped you. </p><p>“Let me” He said and took his hands in yours, bringing them to rest at your sides before he pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his hands and gently brought them to your face. When he was done, he kissed you on the forehead and let you leave the room first. </p><p>Back in the main living room of the house, Sterling was talking to Cassie and Dean. Dean was standing much closer to Cassie than he had last night. I guess this was hard for her too, for some reason. She hadn’t talked much to you, so you didn’t really know why. </p><p>“This isn’t a crime scene” You heard Cassie say. “Who breaks into the China cabinet and leaves the China completely untouched?”</p><p>Sloane chimed in with the logistics. “If the cabinet doors had been closed when the impact happened, the glass would be on the plates, shelves, and in the cabinet. Therefore the doors were opened to break the glass” </p><p>“And then they moved the glass around and left” Dean filled in. </p><p>“But nothing else in this whole house is broken, why?” Cassie asked, slowly turning a full three-sixty to take in the scene. She stopped when she faced you. “Y/n, did your- these people have anywhere you weren’t supposed to go, anywhere they could keep secrets?” </p><p>“I was never allowed in their room. I never tried to go in there. There's also a third bedroom in the middle of the hall that I was never allowed in. I tried to open the door once, when they were away for a weekend in fifth grade. It didn’t move and I couldn’t even turn the doorknob.” You said. </p><p>“And none of that raised a red flag for you?” Lia asked, skeptical. Did she really think you were a part of their twisted plan? Briggs laid a hand on her shoulder and she backed off. </p><p>“Honestly, I thought it was normal. I’d never been in a friends house to compare or see how it was different.” You responded. You had never thought about how your parents had never let you go anywhere. You used to get invited to places in middle school but then your parents would never let you go because you were too smart and too weird and too different. But then you would eat ice cream on the porch swing with your mom and everything would be okay again. It had never registered that they were the only ones who told you smart was bad. Your friends in AP bio had praised you for it and your teacher always wanted you to make use of your natural abilities. </p><p>You led them up the stairs and to the door at the very top. You tried to open it, but it didn’t budge. Its warm colored wood stared back at you, as immovable as a brick wall. Then, you took an angry left turn and brought them to your parents room. You opened the door and were hit by the bright white of it all. The walls were white and the floor was fluffy white carpet. There was an IKEA cube dresser but it was white acrylic, like something you’d see in a minimalist influencers house tour. But, when Lia opened it, there was other contents inside. </p><p>“Damn, Y/n, your parents were kinky,” She said. Almost every adult (plus Micheal) shot her a stern “Lia!” and a glance. </p><p>“They aren’t your parents,” Sterling said coming up behind you. She put her hand on your shoulder. She had sensed that you were conflicted on who they were in relation to you. Has your whole childhood been a lie? Yes. But did that mean that your parents didn’t love you? Perhaps. You’d never know if you never caught them. </p><p>Briggs opened the only other thing besides the cubby of handcuffs and whips. The door was also white. Inside were white walls covered in images, news articles with sloppy circles in red marker, and a bunch of different colored sticky notes. You took one look and excused yourself. Those people will figure out what they do best, and you will go back to your room and look at some photos of hot people or read your favorite textbook on cell development (and yes, you did have enough to have a favorite). </p><p>Veronica came to her own conclusion about what the room of evil plans meant, and came to join you on the floor. “This is the reading you do for fun?” </p><p>“This and romance novels, yeah” You responded. She was your sister. You wanted to know about her, you wanted to love her. You wanted her to be your real family. </p><p>“I used to read a lot of books, too,” She said. “Mostly mystery and murder but I had my fare share of romance sprinkled in too.” </p><p>You smiled. You were being normal. Well, you were being yourself. And Veronica wasn’t running away. </p><p>“What's your favorite book?” She asked. </p><p>“Romance or textbook?” You asked. She smiled. </p><p>“All time” </p><p>“And you really want to know?” You asked her. When she nodded, looking at you, you couldn’t help but let a huge smile spread across your face. She wanted to listen to you. To what you liked and what you were good at and what you wanted to talk about. Your parents had never really listened. </p><p>You reached out to the book on internal organs or general surgery. You turned to the chapter on appendicitis and appendectomies. “This is the chapter that made me fall in love with medicine.”  <br/>You paused and looked at her. Her eyes were raking in the small but long words on the page. “What about you? What made you fall in love with the FBI?” </p><p>“Have you ever watched the show Scandal?” She asked you. This time it was your turn to nod. “Well when I watched that for the first time, I knew exactly what I wanted to do for the rest of my life” </p><p>“So how many times have you watched it now?” You asked her. </p><p>“Seven” She responded. </p><p>“I stopped watching in season three because it got too bad for me.” You told her. There was more to that sentence than you thought you should say, but you went ahead and said it anyways. “It gave me nightmares, and I tried to run into my parents- um, the people’s room and they took away the internet for a month.” Veronica sat there and listened. “I couldn’t access any online textbooks or watch any live streamed surgeries or lectures.” </p><p>Veronica cracked a smile. “That's what you wanted to watch?” </p><p>You nodded. Was it time for her to make fun of you now? But when she spoke, she didn’t. “I think you’ll be great friends with Sloane,” She said instead. </p><p>Lia appeared at the door. “Knock knock” She said in a sing-songy voice instead of just knocking on the door frame. “Judd says it's time to go.”</p><p>The first five minutes of the car ride went well. You sat in silence and listened to the radio. Veronica had let you bring a few of your textbooks back with you (even though it was a crime scene) and your emergency bag of medical stuff. You didn’t have access to the good stuff like a doctor, but you had gauze, tampons and pads (for more than just periods), hand sanitizer, nail clippers, cloth scissors, and a pocket knife multitool. Also a sewing kit. The car popped a flat tire and Veronica went out to change it. </p><p>You lay across the backseat, your head propped up against Micheals arm (that lay on top of a big stack of heavy textbooks), with your feet up against the window. Cars were flying by. Well, until they weren’t. It had only been ten or fifteen minutes until they stopped. There was a few minutes without one, and then a black SUV with tinted windows rolled by at around half the speed the sixty miles per hour road said to go. The weirdest part was when it reversed over the speed limit. To top it all off, it rolled down its window enough for us to see the barrel of a gun. </p><p>When Sterling yelled, you swung your feet down and opened the door. What the hell was going on? You heard two shots fired before she made it into the backseat. </p><p>“Drive Lia!” She ordered. Lia put her foot on the pedal and the car gained speed almost exponentially. Unfortunately for us, the car behind us was just as fast. And there was no traffic around. </p><p>Then, you saw the blood. You had thought that the person had just fired at the car to scare us off, but they shot Veronica. She made no attempt at stopping the bleeding or doing anything to her leg. </p><p>“Put your leg up on the books” You told her. She leaned against the window of the car. There were more shots and the back window cracked into a spiderweb. You took out the purse of stuff and grabbed the hand sanitizer. You sanitized your hands and then looked at her. “This is gonna hurt” </p><p>“I can take the pain,” She said through already gritted teeth. But after a second long staring battle (you had no excess time to waist), she took the gun from her own belt and handed it to Micheal. </p><p>“Use the open roof” She told him. You poured a glob of hand sanitizer into each of her bullet wounds, which were fairly close together. Lia took a sharp left and everyone slid a little. You knew where she was going. But you couldn’t get to the hospital too soon. </p><p>“Lose the other guy before we go to the hospital” Veronica said. She knew where we were going too. You wondered how many trips she had made there because of situations like this. </p><p>“And drive better.” Micheal added before taking a shot and missing the other car because of an even sharper right turn. </p><p>“I don’t care how you drive, just don’t kill us,” Veronica said, closing her eyes. By this time she was sitting in a seat soaked in her own warm, red blood. You had moved so that your back was up against the passenger seat and you crouched down. Micheal was standing next to you, but he only let his hands and the gun above the ceiling of a car. </p><p>You needed to stop the bleeding. You needed a tourniquet. You tore off your shirt (a white, wrap around long sleeve) and wrapped it around Veronica’s leg as close to her waist as you could and as tight as you could. Each time you dragged it underneath her leg, you watched the white cotton fabric turn redder and redder with the blood of your sister's wounds. You tied it at the top and wiped your bloody hands on your black jeans before turning back to the box. Pulling the gauze out, you unwrapped it and then Lia took a turn. Everything spilled into the bloody seat. </p><p>Veronica started to close her eyes. You packed her leg with all the gauze you had and held it down firmly with your hands. It quickly bled through the gauze, and you looked at the scissors. </p><p>“Stay with me Veronica” You asked her. She didn’t open her eyes and you said it again, this time begging and pleading with her to stay conscious. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Where do you want to go on your next vacation?” </p><p>“I don’t take vacations” She said with her eyes closed. </p><p>“Okay well tell me about your dream wedding,” You asked her. </p><p>“Already happened,” She responded. </p><p>“Veronica I need you to work with me here. And I wasn’t there so I want you to tell me about it” You took the scissors from the seat and wiped them off on your own pants before cutting off the bottom of her business pants. You cut above the wound but below the tourniquet. As Veronica smiled and told you all about the white lilacs and marigold bouquets and the dress she wore and the vows she made to Briggs. About how she still loves him, and how she’s happy they're finally trying again. You cut the leg of her pants off and bundled what little fabric it provided in your hands. You then put it on top of the gauze and held down pressure. </p><p>“I think he’s gone,” Micheal said and closed the sun roof. </p><p>“Hospital. Now” You told Lia, but she was already on her way. How had you lost the guy? It seemed like he made it his mission to hunt you. </p><p>“That's not funny,” Veronica said. You hadn’t realized you were still talking out loud. </p><p>“I wasn’t trying to be funny” You responded. You didn’t want to be on her bad side when she finally blacked out. </p><p>“Well like a year ago Cassie and I were kidnapped and tied up and our captor wanted to kill us by hunting us. For sport.” Veronica said. You looked at Micheal, who seemed kind of uncomfortable, and not just because you had no problem stripping. This whole situation was uncomfortable. You wondered if he had been shot before and then pulled yourself back into what Veronica was saying. You asked Micheal if it was true with your eyes. He nodded. </p><p>“I swear I will never mention being hunted again,” You told her, as serious as ever. “Micheal, give me Veronica’s palm.” You told him. He did it. You put two fingers over her wrist to take her pulse. As long as it was there, you should be good. You sanitized the wound, tried to stop the bleeding, and packed it with what you had. </p><p>“Her blood type is AB,” Lia said quietly from the front. Something told you that she wasn’t normally this quiet after a high speed car chase with guns.  She seemed like the distractions gal. </p><p>You pulled into the ambulance bay like you had seen people do on Grey’s Anatomy. In all your time shadowing doctors and surgeons here, you had only seen people really do this twice. Micheal jumped out of the car before it rolled it to a stop, and not far behind him was Lia. </p><p>“We need help!” They shouted into the ER. “Probably a gurney over here!” Luckily, doctors came rushing to your aide.</p>
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